


Bone and Amber

by Kyriadamorte



Series: A true and perfect image of life indeed [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Family Drama, Fantastic Racism, Multi, Original Character(s), Trespasser DLC, not just from the ones you'd expect, seriously millenia year old bullshit is going to float to the surface, westworld flavored creepiness and feels coming your way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2018-11-18 13:45:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11291886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyriadamorte/pseuds/Kyriadamorte
Summary: The Veil has been destroyed, the True World restored to the People, and the Evanuris dealt with (at least for now), but there is still much to be done. Unfortunately, Fen'Harel's spirits seem to be flagging - possibly due to the loss of the shemlen he'd taken under his wing while with the Inquisition.  Luckily, some of his more enthusiastic followers have come up with a plan to help cheer him up and get things back on track.Alternately: "That one where an overly enthusiastic ex-Grand Artist of Ghilan'ain makes a not-quite-Lavellan-robot and everyone has to reexamine what it means to be a person and nobody is happy."





	1. Asvhella's Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Feynite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Looking Glass](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4867676) by [Feynite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/pseuds/Feynite). 



> This fic was grown from the plot bunny inspired by some of the world-building in Feynite's The Looking Glass - specifically the flesh constructs (although a few other things like Dreaming Born and Waking Born etc). If you haven't read that fic, well, you can still read and understand this story BUT you should go read her stuff anyway because it's amazing.
> 
> That being said, a lot of the rest of the world will look a bit different - specifically Solas's post-Trespasser endgame, my own specific Elvhenan headcanons etc SO please don't come here expecting everything to be exactly the same.

Asvhella has always been exceptionally gifted.

Ghilan’ain had seen as much and had been quick to claim her has her own, trading her from Dirthamen for a set of enchanted daggers when she was not yet even a hundred years old. In retrospect, the exchange rate seems a little insulting, but at the time she had only been excited to work for an Evanuris who would finally appreciate her gifts, give her chance for recognition and, if she was lucky, advancement.

Some said her talent was due to her early struggles with her own form. It wasn’t a completely invalid point, she supposes, even if the magic used for each was largely unrelated. Being Waking Born was not without its advantages, but did also tended to leave one stuck with a body that required at least a bit of magical tweaking due to the oddities of physical reproduction. Eyes that did not see as far as they should (or, worse, had a displeasing colour). Teeth that were not quite straight. Unruly hair.

Asvhella, for example, had been saddled with a body that insisted on appearing as what most considered male, despite all evidence to the contrary. She still remembers those early days of frustration and awkwardness, but she had not let herself wallow in self-pity for long and had decided to address the problem head-on. Starting when she was still what most considered a child, Asvhella had lovingly molded and shaped herself so that her waking body more closely matched her form in Dreaming. Lines were rounded, flesh removed in some places and added in others, all the while keeping the parts she liked best as guidelines to help her with the rest.

Creating and perfecting flesh constructs was quite different in terms of power and technique, however, there were some skills that carried over - the attention to detail, the gentleness needed to carve away only a little at at time, the restraint not to let form become completely detached from function. While some of Ghilan’ain’s followers - and even (towards the end) the Evanuris herself - had favored extravagant and outlandish creations with exotic coloring and complex limbs, Asvhella’s creations were known for their subtle intricacy wrapped in deceptive simplicity .

She had even assisted in some of the early modifications to the halla, although she is fairly sure Misyl does not know about that. According to all official accounts, halla were solely the creation of Ghilan’ain. However, most official accounts also said that Andruil had killed the Great Fire Turtle all by herself and that June’s first windless windmill worked without failing once, both of which were obviously lies.

Yes, Asvhella has always been exceptionally gifted.

She had also had quite the talent for anticipating the needs of those she was bound in service to (before the End Days when reason had fled and there was no predicting anything anymore). She supposes this is why Misyl had come to her in the first place to broach the subject of how to best…help their leader.

The veil was destroyed and the Evanuris dealt with (for the time being at least), but there is still much to be done to restore what once was and their beloved Fen’Harel has become…listless as of late. Perhaps it is the lack of urgency. Perhaps he is tired from using so much magic, from accomplishing so much in such a short period of time. Perhaps it is even as some say and he actually harbors regrets for ridding them all of the broken half-world with its broken half-people.

She tells Misyl that there is little they can do about the first two, but they can attempt to return some of what he has lost if it actually turns out to be the latter.

Asvhella has always been exceptionally gifted.

Her memory is impeccable and her eye for detail without rival, but she decides early on that she will not make an exact replica of the broken and battered form she had seen from across the battlefield. Too many battle scars had obscured an inoffensive (if unremarkable) face and the unevenness of the missing limb was unsightly. Besides, she’s heard that Fen’Harel had deeply regretted maiming the one who was Inquisitor, for all that it had temporarily thwarted most efforts to move against him. To give him a new construct with a form that reminded him of the damage he had, regrettably, had to inflict on the old one would be counterproductive.

No, she will give Fen’Harel the form he first grew to favor while trapped alone amongst these poor empty creatures, but without the offending vallaslin that he himself had removed.

She goes deep into dreaming and sends those spirits that she can trust even deeper and gathers whatever memories she can find linked to this Inquisitor Lavellan. She’s somewhat surprised she finds as many as she does; these shemlen had such short lives as it is and this one’s life was cut even shorter by the reunification of the world. There will still be gaps, she knows, but she plans to work with the construct minimize these as much as possible before presenting it to Fen’Harel. She adds the last of the memories, carefully weaving them in with magic that will bind them to this form and synthesize them in such a way so as to be understandable to this new being.

Yes, Asvhella has always been exceptionally gifted and she always feels a rush of excitement in these moments before seeing if all of her hard work has paid off. A hint of affection, too, for these lovely intricate creations of hers. Her dark, beautiful fingers brush the hair that they had so carefully crafted away from the face that had nearly ensnared their beloved Dread Wolf. She cannot say she fully understands the appeal herself, but it was never her place to question the desires of her superiors.

She smiles to herself, proud she has not lost her talent after so many years of sleep. She grounds herself before pulling the last great burst of energy into its form. For a few minutes as the magic settles not much happens. Then, a twitch of the fingers, a furrowing of the brow - these small movements that she knows mean success. Asvhella holds her breath as the construct opens its eyes.

And screams.


	2. Well, shit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fen'Harel returns.

Fen’Harel has returned early from his journey to the western cities.

 

_Shit._

 

Terisin had hoped for a few more weeks to contain…eliminate…come to a decision regarding Asvhella’s new project (disaster).He knows that genius is prone to eccentricities, but honestly wonders if Asvhella manages to contribute enough of the one to justify her overabundance of the other.

 

He feels any hope he had that Fen’Harel might not notice their latest addition being slowly strangled as the not-god makes his way through the entrance hall.The general (ex-general?) cannot have missed the higher-than-normal level of twitchy looks, lip-biting and general fidgeting that is being sent his way.

 

_Why didn’t they simply summon spirits of Deception, Falsehood and Suspicion the moment Fen’Harel had opened the door?The effect would have been the same._

 

His anxiety only grows when he sees the violet apparition that is hovering next to the Dread Wolf’s elbow.

 

Doubt was one of the first spirits that had not only ventured into Tuashalasan, but seemed content enough to call the new city their home.It was unfortunate; doubt was not a strong foundation for anything, much less the rebuilding of an entire culture, the regrowth of an entire people.They had considered destroying it, but Fen’Harel had eventually persuaded them against it, reluctant to harm any of the few remaining or newly-formed spirits since so many had been destroyed or corrupted - first by the damaging of the Veil and then by its destruction. He had asked the spirit to remain out of public areas, however - a request that was often forgotten or ignored (or perhaps the spirit simply doubted its sincerity), judging by the number of times Terisin had seen it hovering next to Fen’Harel, swaying side to side uncertainly.

 

His hope is saved from a long and agonizing death by a crash and a few muffled shouts, which snaps its neck rather effectively. Still, Terisin had been a Sentinel of Mythal for many years and the instinct to guard and protect is not one that is easily overcome by something as mundane as logic.In a few short strides, he manages to block the Dread Wolf’s path as he makes his way towards Asvhella’s quarters, hoping that his intentions aren’t as transparent as he fears they are.

 

“My lord!” he manages to get out, an entirely unconvincing look of nonchalance plastered onto his face.“What a delightful surprise!We had not expected you for another moon at least.We would have prepared more to greet you had we known-”

 

“Do not trouble yourself, lethallin.” Fen'Harel interrupts. “My dealings with our brethren to the west were resolved much more quickly than anticipated.I have Souren in charge of the remaining negotiations.Besides, I have told you that I do not require fanfare every time I leave or return.”

 

Terisin nods, but is not sure he believes it.Even Mythal had been quite fond of fanfare. He does not know if he can recall of a single leader who wasn’t.

 

“Now, would you mind telling me what’s going on?”

 

“I’m sure it’s nothing,“ Terisin replies.

 

Fen’Harel mere looks at him with a placid smile raised eyebrows.

 

Terisin absolutely does not shuffle his feet.

 

“Well, Asvhella- um, I’m not sure if you…she’s the tall one on your committee of agricultural and environmental affairs.”

 

“Not my committee, but, yes, I remember her.Please continue.”

 

“Well, you see, she’s always been one for experimentation and her latest…well, if it turns out, it’ll be quite revolutionary, but as it is, she’s having to do some trouble-shooting.Apparently, it’s having trouble accessing- not that I know all the particulars, mind you - but she says it’s different when you are using reused ones instead of newly crafted ones and-“

 

The Dread Wolf seems to be growing more and more amused the longer Terisin continues to ramble on.

 

“I’m sure she has it all well in hand,” he finishes up, rather pathetically.

 

“Well why don’t we go see, just in case?As you said, I have returned early and, therefore, have an unexpectedly free schedule for the rest of the day.Might as well take advantage of it.”

 

He strides off in the direction of the commotion before Terisin can even think of, let alone voice, an objection.He scurries to catch up, falling into step next to him, rather than the respectful two steps back.

 

From inside the room, they can hear agitated voices.

 

“Put it back in stasis!” he can hear Misyl cry, frantically.

 

“We can’t keep doing that every time something goes wrong.” Asvhella responds, her voice tinged with exasperation as it always seems to be when she speaks to the poor man.“I’m fairly certain it’s only making it worse and contrary to what you might have been taught under Falon’Din, not all problems can be solved by turning it off and turning it back on again.”

 

“Well then, please enlighten me, _oh_ _marvelous and inspired Grand Artist,_ why we are running into so many gods-forsaken problems in the first place?You said you had done spells like this before!”

 

“I have!Just…not quite on this scale. And it’s different when I’m integrating this many memories from this many sources and there's no overarching task or motivation to give it to help unite everything-"

 

At this, Fen’Harel side-eyes the sentinel, raising his eyebrow skeptically, “All in well in hand, you say?Perhaps I should investigate anyway, just in case.”

 

Before Terisin has a chance to respond, Fen’Harel opens the door and strides in.

 

Terisin does not know who he is most embarrassed for as they are greeted with the undignified sight of Misyl and Asvhella down on their hands and knees, peering under a large ornamental couch, asses in the air to greet the greatest revolutionary of all Elvhenan and restorer of the People. _She’s a genius,_ Terisin reminds himself, breathing deeply. _She is necessary for the advancement of the People so that they may flourish.It would be completely inappropriate and only exacerbate the situation to smack them both upside the head._

 

Fen’Harel clears his throat and then seems to try (and fail) not to chuckle as their heads whip in unison to face him, eyes wide with alarm.For a moment nobody says anything.

 

“M-my lord!” Asvhella recovers first.“I- we had not- it’s not ready! I just need-“

 

“What seems to be the problem?” Fen’Harel interrupts, realizing that Asvhella is not going to reach the end of a sentence any time soon.

 

Misyl is doing a rather remarkable impersonation of a fish.Asvhella continues to verbally flail in search of sentences that will lead her out of the mountain of trouble she has heaped upon herself.

 

_We are all so fucked._

 

“If words are insufficient, perhaps I should simply see for myself.”

 

As before, he moves without waiting for a response.He levitates the couch a few feet off the ground, revealing the skinny, dirty, elf-shaped thing beneath it.It looks up at Fen’Harel, whose mouth has opened slightly in shock.

 

Later, Terisin will reason that they _all_ must have been a bit in shock.It’s the only possible explanation as to why none of them (including Fen’Harel himself) manage to protect him from the plate that is flung forcefully into his face.His nose breaks with a crunch and blood gushes down his chin.All three of the other elves rush to assist him, which is why none of them move to stop the figure who scrambles from its exposed hiding place to cower in the corner.

 

Fen’Harel waves them off with one hand while mending his nose with the other.He looks to the figure in the corner, his shock giving way to pain, which is the quickly replaced by rage.He whirls to face them, his teeth clenched so hard that Terisin fears they might chip.His eyes narrow and he grits out, “ _What. Have. You. Done._ ” 

 

His eyes dart to Terisin as well as Misyl and Asvhella, which is quite unfair seeing as he had had nothing to do with this foolishness.

 

“I haven’t finished working out all the kinks, yet, my lord,” Asvhella says, beseechingly. “The magic is so new and it _has_ been a while and maybe magic is still adapting to the new landscape of the dreaming-” her eyes dart to Fen’Harel’s face, which is truly dreadful at the moment.

 

She switches tactics, “The memories are there, I know it - I just need to figure out how to get her to access them.And then do some minor tinkering on her linguistic and motor functions.And then, perhaps, add some protocol spells to take care of some of the behavioral issues-”

 

“Do you think this is _funny?”_ he hisses, the last word cutting like a knife.

 

“Of course not!” Misyl steps in, finally. “Despite her lack of skill” Asvhella makes a disgruntled noise at that. _Really, woman, not the time!_ “Asvhella really did just want to give you a gift - a token of our appreciation for all you have done for us!  They say- that is… we know her loss cost you greatly, my lord.  We only wanted to help.”

 

Terisin can practically hear the Dread Wolf counting to ten in his head, surges of anger and frustration coming out from him in waves as he looks to each of them in turn.He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before saying, “Get rid of it.”

 

“B-but my lord!I worked so hard to- I thought I had more time to fix-”

 

_Idiot artistic types! Do you not see that you are already lucky that the Dread Wolf has not turned you to stone or worse?_

 

“Get. Rid. Of. It.” he says, each word clipped and sharp.

 

The construct, which had been rocking back and forth relatively quietly up until this point, bursts into tears.

 

Fen’Harel’s eyes screw shut as if he has been stabbed and he rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes, all the while refusing to turn to the corner where the construct is crying.He takes a few shaky breaths staring out the window before a mask of calm, blank neutrality slips over his features.

 

“Fine. Do what you will with it, but know this: it is your responsibility. If it causes too much trouble, it _will_ be disposed of.Keep it out of the main public areas and when it is _fixed_ ” he spits out the word “enough, find it a suitable task to do.”

 

He turns and walks out the door, not sparing any of them (or the construct) a second glance.A rush of his magic closes the door soundly with a bang.

 

_Well, shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter took about twice as long as I expected because I made the mistake the first time around of writing it from Solas's POV. He wanted to go on and on about his feelings and his motivations and his past and i) it was way too early for that shit and ii) it dragged like a mofo and nothing plot-wise was actually happening. This version is definitely better, although I still wouldn't say I am happy with it. HOWEVER, the next chapter is almost done so that should be out fairly soon.
> 
>  
> 
> Also: Most of the names I am using in this work are borrowed from FenxShiral's Project Elvhen.


	3. Good Days and Bad Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She doesn't remember her name today.
> 
> She doesn't know if that makes it a Good Day or a Bad Day.

She doesn't remember her name today.

 

She doesn't know if that makes it a Good Day or a Bad Day.

 

Good Days are when she uses words and answers questions and practices eating and drinking by herself and lets the woman braid her hair.

 

Bad Days are when she screams and yells and throws food and won't let the woman change her clothes.Bad Days are like yesterday (or was it?) when she hit Wolf Man in the face with a plate.

 

She knows this because the woman tells her. Well, not her directly, but the man who sometimes comes. But she is there, too, and the woman will say "We had a Good Day today" while smiling and stroking her hair or she will shake her head and sigh while looking at her out of the corner of her eye and say "It's fine.Just a Bad Day, that's all."

 

But the woman didn't say either of those things so she's not sure. Maybe it's possible to have days that aren't Good or Bad.

 

The woman is asleep now and so is the man, she thinks.She doesn't sleep.She tried once, taking a pillow from the couch the woman keeps in her rooms and putting it in the floor.She had lain like that for maybe a couple of hours or maybe a couple of minutes, staring at the ceiling, before the woman had asked her what she was doing and laughed at the response the way she does when the man says funny things.

 

So she doesn't sleep, which normally doesn't bother her, but now it does because she will have to wait many minutes or possibly hours before the woman will wake up and they can do things again. 

 

She eyes the door and remembers the hallways and rooms and gardens that lie beyond it.The woman had told her to stay Here, but Here can mean a great many things, she's learned.The woman says "Here" and sometimes means the room, but sometime she means the chair and sometime she means the building where the room is and sometimes she even means the place ( _city_ , she reminds herself) where this building and other buildings near it live.

 

She waits another few seconds (minutes? hours?) and decides that it is the woman's own fault for not being clearer and if she is upset that she didn't know that Here meant the room then tomorrow (today?) will just have to be a Bad Day.

 

The hallway is empty when she opens the door and so is the hallway around the corner and so is the courtyard after that.She walks up to the fountain in the center and peers into it.A face stares back. She's quirks her head in question and so does the face.She thinks maybe the face in the water is her face, but no, her hands on her cheeks and forehead tell her that her face is where it is supposed to be and, anyway, there was something not quite right about the one that stared back at her.Something unfinished.Something that starts to pull at her like the dark-storm-clawing-screaming-crying-thing that usually led to Bad Days.

 

It doesn't pull very hard, though, because suddenly courtyard isn't empty and there is an orange Cloud-Thing ( _spirit,_ something at the back of her mind supplies) poking at her ear.The sensation is odd and she thinks it might tickle. She's fairly certain tickling is Good (- _a man's calloused hands wriggling in her arm pits, deep laughter and high-pitched giggles-)_ so she tickles the spirit back. Or tries to - her hand goes through the area where the armpit would be, but the Cloud-Thing-spirit giggles at the contact so she thinks it must have worked well enough. It darts away and she goes to chase it, is rewarded by more smothered giggles when she catches it.They play this again and again and sometimes she makes a sound that she thinks might be a laugh. 

 

Eventually, the spirit darts further and further out of reach after each time it is caught until she realizes that this time she can no longer see it.She's almost upset by this and is about to take it out on a nearby flower when she realizes that this is probably part of the game.

 

She looks into empty rooms and is careful to be very quiet so that she can catch it unawares.She looks and looks and finds a set of stairs that she climbs and climbs until she finds a door at the end of it.She pushes it open, hoping to be met by a cloud of orange mist.

 

She isn't, but the room isn't empty either.There is a large desk in the corner of the room and behind the desk is Wolf Man.Even though she has been very quiet, he seems to notice her arrival and looks up at her.He meets her eyes with a softer version of the look he had given her yesterday (no, not softer, not really, just less sharp) before quickly looking back down at the assortment of things she doesn't have words for on his desk and asking, "Did Asvhella send you?"

 

That seems like a silly question.The woman (Asvhella, yes, that was her name) was asleep so how was she supposed to ask her to do anything. She shakes her head.The man peers back up at her, but not at her eyes this time - somewhere around her chin or her ear -and she realizes he probably didn't see before so she shakes her head again.

 

"What are you doing here, then?"

 

She takes a moment, focusing on making the words she can understand but not always say come out of her mouth."Playing. Was. Now talking. Lost Orange Cloud-Thing."

 

His brow furrows. It does that a lot, she thinks."I told her to keep you out of everyone's way.You should return to her chambers," he says, shifting his gaze further away from her.

 

"Not in way. In this room. Everyone asleep. No ways to be in," she reasons, rather thoroughly.

 

At that, his eyes finally meet hers again and his face twitches before he gives her a look that isn't like any of the ones he (or anyone else) as given her before. It's not Sad or Angry or Amused or even Scared.It's just sort of...flat.She doesn't think she likes the way it looks on his face.

 

( _-eyes crinkled at the edges, smile wide as he throws his head back and laughs, "Is that a serious question?”-)_

 

She reaches out to touch him, to tickle him, maybe, and make him laugh.He catches her arm in midair and the blank look is gone but instead now he is staring at her with eyes that have gone almost as big and round as the plate she had chucked at him.

 

"What are you doing?" 

 

His voice sounds funny. 

 

"Playing."

 

"What?"

 

"Playing. Lost orange thing so you-and-me play now," she explains.

 

"Laughter," she adds after a few minutes of silence where he continues to look at her, unblinking.

 

He sucks in a breath at that and grinds his teeth and his brow furrows _again_ and why is Wolf Man upset about playing of all things?He stands up swiftly and grabs her by the arm and starts to steer her out of the room.He isn’t looking at her, but she is looking at him and it makes her head hurt as things start to pull at her and maybe this is why she threw the plate yesterday.She barely notices as hallways and rooms and gardens pass them by because she is looking at him, at his face at his shoulders and waist and knees and feet and then back again. 

 

"Too shiny."

 

The words come out of her mouth without her telling them to.

 

"What?"

 

"Your clothes. Too shiny. Not soft enough. It's wrong."

 

The hand on her upper arm clenches and it almost hurts, but not quite, so she doesn't say anything. He's still very quiet, doesn't say anything either, but at this his brows pull in further and his eyes still won't look at her eyes, but they do glance over her face before darting away.Maybe he is mad at her for yesterday (probably yesterday).

 

"I'm sorry," she offers, because that is what you are suppose to say to someone when you hurt them.

 

"What?"

 

She wonders if his mind has gotten stuck on that word the way hers does sometimes.

 

"The plate. Hit your nose. Blood."

 

He lets out something that sounds like a laugh except it’s not funny or happy at all.“I deserve far more than a plate to the face.”

 

“Why?” she asks.“Bad Day?”

 

He makes the same sad not-laugh, “You could say that.Very many bad days.”

 

Hmm.She supposes that makes sense.Still, it seems a bit unfair that he be punished for Bad Days when - if they are anything like hers - they are often a punishment in and of themselves.She pats his hand where it rests on her opposite arm and gives what she hopes is an encouraging smile, “Don’t worry, Wolf Man, maybe tomorrow will be Good Day.”

 

“Perhaps,” he says, staring at her hand where it rests on his.

 

Somehow, she doesn’t think he believes that.


	4. Mothersong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Never thought I'd see you at a Dalish Gathering. Not willingly, anyway."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you following, I'm still working on this fic! Sensate-verse just happens to be a bit easier to chug out because I don't have to worry about pesky things like "writing linearly" and "having a coherent overarching plotline".
> 
> Thanks to those of you who have just joined and those of you who are sticking with me even when I get distracted by other ideas.

Nerin is spinning, spinning, stomping and kicking.She's smiling so hard her cheeks have started to ache, but she just can't stop.Today is the Eve of Mothersong and, for the first time in four years, her clan has enough food (and distance from angry templars) to celebrate it properly. 

 

On the other side of the giant bonfire, she can see her Babae swinging her Papae around, both of them managing to keep singing despite their rather impressive footwork.

 

There's a woman sitting to the side, watching her carefully - a city elf, judging by her lack of vallaslin.There's something strange about her.City elves sneaking out of the alienage to rough it with the Dalish for a few days is hardly unheard of, especially when there is plenty of drinking, dancing, and _socializing_ to go around, but Nerin has never seen a city elf quite so tall or with quite as many elaborate braids.At least, not in Wycomb. 

 

And yet...there is something about her that is familiar.... Had she seen her in a dream, perhaps?

 

She shakes off the thought and makes another turn around the fire, trying something a little more acrobatic, to the delight of several onlookers who whoop and yip in delight.As she pulls her head up, she makes eye contact with yet another unexpected guest.

 

_"Solas!"_

 

Unexpected, yes, but not unwelcome.

 

He looks alarmed at being caught here.She can imagine why.

 

"Never thought I'd see you at a Dalish Gathering.Not willingly, anyway," she teases. "Are you here to tell us how we're having fun wrong?Or are you actually here to partake in said fun," she continues with a smile to let him know she is at least mostly joking. "If you are, don't worry; I won't tell anyone - your secret is safe with me."

 

"Is that where we are?" he asks.His voice is wrong.There is none of the teasing she has come to expect from him, none of the warmth.

 

"Yes?Have you never heard of Mothersong?I feel like it's fairly universal 'elfy thing'" she says, imitating Sera. "Pretty sure even the more Andrastian alienages still do something."

 

"I've heard of it."

 

He's peering at her, searching for something in her face as he does from time to time.It's unsettling even at the best of times and the way he's acting now....She reaches out a hand, hoping to nudge him out of the odd mood he's in.

 

"Dance with me, _ma'len_!I promise it will be far less stuffy than the Winter Palace."

 

He looks like she's slapped him.She's confused and she can feel something tugging at her, nudging her towards something cold and dark...

 

"Don't worry if you don't know the steps - most of it's us making shit up anyway," she says, hoping she's guessed the source of his anxiety correctly. "I won't let them laugh at you," she adds, more seriously.

 

"You remember Halamshiral?"

 

His voice is hoarse and he looks as spooked as a newborn halla. _What is going on?_

 

"Yes?Solas what's this about?"

 

"What else do you remember?"

 

He hasn't blinked once.

 

"Is this a test?" A thought occurs to her. "Are we in the Fade?"

 

It would make sense. Solas has never met her clan, not all of them anyway.And this...this had happened before the Inquisition, before Solas. Two years before the stupid conclave.

 

The forest and firelight and aravels and faces of her her friends and family fade away and she is left in a courtyard with Solas. 

 

And the woman, the strange looking city elf.

 

( _-her body is frozen solid but there is no ice to be seen. Pale eyes stand out against a dark face. "I don't want to do this, but you are being obstreperous!"She can't move, can't move, can't move-)_

 

She's still reeling from the onslaught when Solas turns to the woman and says, "You said that she was reliving them!That her mind was wholly consumed by each memory in turn.How then would you explain this?"

 

He seems furious and Nerin feels an odd urge to protect this stranger.

 

(- _a predator, stalking, advancing, none of the fumbling softness she finds so endearing left about him at all, "all that remains now is them!"-)_

 

Solas...he couldn't have done that, surely?

 

"This is the first time she's broken out - every other time she's glitched, nothing gets through to her.Two days ago, she walked straight into a wall!"

 

A wall? Who? Are they talking about her? The thought grates like fingernails against stone.

 

"Perhaps it is your presence, my lord, that has brought about this change."

 

The woman's voice has taken on that soothing tone that Josephine uses on visiting dignitaries.If she had been hoping to improve Solas's mood, however, she's about to be spectacularly let down.Nerin knows that clench of his jaw, the thin line of his lips.

 

The woman must be at least slightly familiar with it as well, judging by the way she rushes to defend herself.

 

"The magic I'm working with is highly experimental!It's impossible to predict precisely how the construct will integrate the collected memories into a comprehensive, comprehensible, united narrative and-"

 

"And yet you still thought it a good idea to attempt such a thing in the first place!"

 

Nerin hasn't seen him this furious since...since...

 

He's been this mad before.She's sure of it.But when?She tries to remember.Her thoughts are turning to grains of sand and more and more slip away the harder she tries to hold on. 

 

"What are you wearing?" she asks, latching onto one of the few thoughts that will fully form before it leaves her

 

_("Your clothes. Too shiny. Not soft enough. It's wrong.")_

 

It's her voice but it's _not_ her voice.There is something different, wrong.She shuts her eyes tightly and presses her hand against her forehead.It's getting harder to breathe.Why is it getting harder to breathe?

 

The woman puts her arms around her and mutters things she understands but doesn't and the tension eases because the woman takes care of her and washes her and-

 

_Asvhella.Her name is Asvhella._

 

But how does she know that?When did they meet?The anxiety from before is back and she wrenches herself away from the warm secure embrace and doesn't let herself mourn its loss because why would she?She doesn't know her.Nerin doesn't let strangers touch her, never, so why would she like it? It doesn't make sense, doesn't make sense, doesn't make sense make sense make-

 

She runs.

 

Maybe they chase her.Maybe they don't.

 

~

 

Her name is Nerin Lavellan.She's pretty sure it is, anyway.

 

She finds Wolf Man after a bath and today is a day he's not looking at her, apparently.She wants to grab his chin and force him, but that is Rude and Bad so she resists the urge and simply sits down next to him, fiddling with the hem of her new dress instead.

 

He won't look at her but he doesn't leave either so she feels brave enough to ask her question.

 

"There was a girl, a woman...dancing.Was that me?"

 

He's silent for a long time.

 

"No."


	5. Over the City Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although Nerin isn't fully aware of it yet, life still exists beyond the walls of Tuashalasan. Here are three stories.
> 
> A peep into (even) less pretty aspects of a recently post-Veil world.

There’s a village by a river that once housed thirty families.The houses are all empty now.Empty, except for one young man who is both very young and not young at all.His wide brimmed hat is very old and tattered and well-loved.

 

He picks up a teddy bear from a small bed covered in dust and mold and brings it to the grave he finished digging earlier that morning.He puts it on the skeleton of a young girl, nestled between that of her parents.They are all long dead; it's impossible to pretend that they are sleeping, that they are anything but dead.He hopes what he is doing helps a little bit anyway.

 

It’s harder and easier now to hear the hurts.Harder since he more fully gave up his spirithood to become a person, easier since the Veil fell and places like this echo with hurts so loud even someone like Chancellor Roderick would probably have been able to hear.He doesn’t always need his powers to know what he needs to do; sometime he just _knows_ (although he's not sure if it's their pain or his own he's helping in these moments).

 

He shovels dirt back into the hole. _One_ , _two, three._ He could use magic to do this, he thinks.The part of himself that he was before Cole is closer to him now.But he doesn't. _One_ , _two, three._

 

When he finishes, he gathers his small bag of belongings and makes camp about a mile or so from the village where he knows he won't hear the hurts as loudly.He's done what he can.If the last few years have taught him anything, it's that he cannot heal every hurt. _Not_ _by a long shot._

 

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to steady himself against the thought.Even as he is now, it is dangerous to give in to despair.

 

Besides, this is not the first village and it will not be the last.He has more to do on the morrow; he will need his rest.

 

~

 

It's been a while since Anerise has ventured into the city and even longer since she's been in what was once the alienage.Its inhabitants had barely had anything worth stealing when they were alive; now, you would be hard pressed to find a single room that had not been completely picked over.Still, if her suspicions are correct, she could come home with something worth its weight in gold.

 

Not that gold really has much use or value nowadays.

 

She tip-toes through the gate, stopping periodically to hide behind bits of rubble and scan her surroundings.She knows there is not too much she needs to worry about, not anymore, but there's no need to fall into bad habits.Since the fall of the Veil, what few spirits remain are far less dangerous than those that had been smothered behind it.Even those once considered the worst sort of demons - Pride, Rage, Despair and their ilk - are often little more than annoying or inconvenient, the source of their bottomless thirst for Reality now gone.Most of what she tends to encounter are merely wisps who are content to pantomime the lives of those who once lived in the city.Still, there are those who were born from the final pain and emotions of mortals - the dying gasp of the Old World, the afterbirth of the New.These half-mad creatures linger around cities like flies, lashing out at any who cross their path.

 

She's halfway down the path when she here's the crunch of breaking glass.She whirls, spear drawn on her attacker. 

 

"Galilon, you fucking idiot!" she seethes. "I could have killed you."

 

He looks down at her spear, which is _perfectly functional and also magical and not deserving of the stupid condescending_ _look_ _he is_ _giving it_ and raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms in front of his broad chest.The entire effect is enhanced by the fact that he is over a foot taller than her.

 

"Really? How?" He asks, smirking - a near constant expression on his stupid face.

 

"Fuck you," she explains.

 

He throws his head back and laughs, all teeth, and okay, apparently, they've given up on any attempt at stealth. 

 

"What are you doing here?"

 

"Looking after you.What are _you_ doing here?"

 

"What do you think?" she snaps back, fully committed to being irritated with him.He's only two years older than her; how dare he presume to chase after her like some sort of nanny?

 

"You still after that?" He's still smirking, but the brightness has faded, replaced with something a bit sadder.

 

She doesn't bother to respond, turning on her heel and striding purposefully towards the corner building where the old pub had once been.He falls into step easily beside her.

 

"Lauma is not going to be pleased.She doesn't like it when we go out by ourselves, especially not into the city."

 

"Lauma is not my mother," she grumbles.

 

He snorts. "Does she know that?"

 

It takes a little while to force the door open since the hinges have rusted shut.Galilon manages in one quick shove from his shoulder, much to her extreme annoyance.

 

The bar is small and covered in dust.Skeletons sit slumped over in their chairs or lie prone on the floor where they had fallen.Anerise takes a deep breath through her nose.She refuses to let the sight of them bother her; it's been years - she should be over it by now.  They step over broken bottles and empty mugs and make their way up the cramped, spiral stairs in the back corner.  The stairs groan beneath their weight and she hopes that they haven't started to rot through.

 

Anerise blames Galilon one hundred percent for what happens next.He opens the door without bothering to look and is immediately met with a stream of icy cold full in the face.Despair pulls and pushes at them both, immobilizing them and leaving them gasping.

 

_We're going to die here.It's happening and she couldn't stop it no one could stop it we didn't taunt the rabid wolf but it caught us in its jaws anyway.There's no escape no way out no one to help no way out no-_

 

There's a thud as her spear pushes through Despair, pinning it to the opposite wall.Galilon, she'll give him this much credit, rallies quickly as well - summoning a fist full of flames and then hacking at it with his sword until it disintegrates into nothing.

 

"Are you going to apologize to my spear now?" she asks, tugging it free.

 

"Nope."

 

She snorts and rolls her eyes before scanning the room, thoughtfully.She runs her hands over the few pieces of furniture in the small room, searching for some drawer or hidden compartment.  Galilon stands in the corner behind her, being useless.  She's about to give up when a floorboard creaks and shifts beneath her feet.She kneels down and uses a small dagger in her belt to pry it up, exposing the precious contents underneath.

 

Galilon peers over her shoulder.  "Great.Can we go home now?"

 

He tries to sound unimpressed, but she can tell he's pleased. Anerise clutches the book to her chest. The brilliant thrill of success paired with a wash of warm relief brings a rare smile to her lips. 

 

"Yes. We can go home now."

 

~

 

On the edge of the forest overlooking Tuashalasan, a fox finishes eating the last of its latest catch.The towers spiral around each other, ascending gracefully into the sky.Any resemblance to bleached bones in the architecture is probably unintentional.Or all in his head.Many things are these days.

 

He’s close to the city, close enough that he can see lights through the windows at night and even the occasional silhouette when he's adventurous enough.Still, there's no reason to abandon his chosen - well, not _home_ , but dwelling place.He was here first and he's not about to let some hopped up Elvhen with delusions of grandeur make him move.Most of the city's inhabitants don't venture out far beyond its walls into the countryside and there is little construction to destroy his favorite hidey holes or chase away his prey - not even any roads, since most elves travel by mirror nowadays and don't see the point in other, slower forms of travel.

 

Apparently, millennia of sleep hadn't helped them learn from their mistakes.

 

He wonders idly if, maybe, he’s spent too long in this form since the squirrel tastes almost as good as the apricot pastries he used to get from the bakery in a small village to the north of Val Royeaux.He's licking the last bit of sinew from between his teeth when he feels vibrations signaling the approach of an intruder.A large one. 

 

A branch, no, _log_  cracks.

 

A _very_ large intruder, then.

 

He stands stock still, ears twitching as he waits to see which way it will go.A noisy silence hums in the air, singing with magic and life in a way that used to be so familiar.

 

A growl breaks the silence and the fox feels large footsteps rapidly approaching.

 

 _Shit_.

 

The fox springs into action, hoping his speed and agility will give him an edge.Whatever is chasing him is using its size to rapidly gain ground.He chances a look back over his shoulder and sees the huge figure of something that might have once been a bear.Or the descendant of something that was once a bear.

 

The removal of the veil had had an odd effect on wildlife.Some had died with the rest of mortal life, shattering in the harmony of Dreaming and Waking flooding together like a wine glass.Others, however, had survived, although they tended to react to the influx of magic in ways that were...concerning.Perhaps even distressing.It's hard to tell nowadays.Everything is distressing.

 

Take this bear-thing, for example.It's bigger than a cart horse, with four glowing red eyes and more teeth than any bear had ever had before the Veil fell, its mouth too large even for its gargantuan head. Perhaps it's what some isolated city dweller thought a bear looked like, having only heard of them by rough description. _Very_ rough description. Perhaps it's what a particularly grumpy bear wishes a bear looked like.Perhaps it's a bear that wandered too close to a spirit of Rage or Fear.

 

No matter.He's faced other fade-addled beasts before.He'll be fine.

 

After a minute, he realizes he might have slightly overestimated how fine he would be.He's faster and smaller, able to dart under logs and over branches, but the bear-monster is _huge_ and _hungry_ and _angry._ He weaves a barrier around himself and tries to summon ice to freeze the beast solid, but his focus hasn't been the same since....and his spells slip away from him.Even with magic everywhere, the barrier is faulty, becoming so strong it slows his movement in one moment and flickering out of existence the next, and his ice is nothing more than a misting of snow.It's bad enough that he cannot stay in his true form for long without turning into a blubbering child; it's absolutely infuriating that he apparently has the control of a child, too.

 

A massive paw with claws that are far too long takes a swipe at him and manages to catch his side. 

 

_Fuck._

 

He darts and dodges, but the wound at his ribs hurts like a bitch.He pulls at magic to heal himself, but - like before - it wiggles out of his grasp and he barely manages to slow the flow of blood.

 

The part of him that isn't angry or annoyed or afraid finds the entire situation hilarious.He managed to survive centuries of psychotic would-be gods, a revolution, years of wandering in a foreign, sundered world - even Fen'Harel himself - and he's going to be killed by a _fucking_ _bear_.

 

The bear corners him and he closes his eyes and braces for the impact of a giant set of jaws on him.

 

It doesn't come.

 

There's a thunk as the bear's body impacts a tree and a furious roar.There is a flurry of snapping jaws and fire and fur and the bear-beast lays in a mangled, smoking, bloodied mess at his rescuer's feet. Felassan looks up from the gore into the purple-grey eyes of a wolf with dark, nearly black fur.It cocks its head to the side, examining him with a quiet, but ferocious curiosity.Felassan, in turn, gives the wolf a once-over with an expression he hopes conveys only moderate interest.

 

 _Huh_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I snuck a bit beyond the fourth wall with a small poke at how bears were 100% Enemy Number One for Thedas in Inquisition.


	6. The wolf and the doll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nerin is beginning to make a place for herself at Tuashalasan.
> 
> or
> 
> Nerin continues to haunt Solas. Memories continue to haunt Nerin.

Nerin is getting her own room today.

 

It’s not so very different from Asvhella’s - a bit smaller and there is only a small couch, no bed, but it’s _hers_.It’s very exciting.

 

She moves swiftly back and forth between the rooms, carrying her few possessions firmly in her arms.Misyl and Asvhella have offered to move it all for her with magic, but Nerin is very determined to do it herself.She can do more and more things by herself and this seems to make Asvhella very happy which makes Nerin happy, but even when Asvhella isn’t there to be happy it’s still very Good.

 

She hangs the last of her dresses in her new very shiny wardrobe that is all covered in golden leaves and looks around and realizes she has so much space left and not nearly enough things to put in her new room.

 

~

 

Asvhella makes her put back all but four of the very interesting rocks she found and says she’s only allowed to have one plant in her room because she will have to take care of it and soon she will have other Tasks to do, but Nerin reminds her that she doesn’t sleep and manages to negotiate the number up to two plants.

 

She also has a collection of cloth scraps that she keeps in a box that she didn’t make herself, but she helped make it and that’s almost as good.She likes sewing _(-calloused fingers close gently around hers and show her how to make her stitches smaller and a quiet low voice murmurs “That’s wonderful, da’len”-)_ and she likes making presents for people even though Asvhella isn’t quite as excited to receive the seventeenth or eighteenth present as she was to receive the first few.Nerin has even made a doll for herself that she’ll sometimes take with her when she walks around so she won’t be alone.At first, Asvhella was very insistent that she not go anywhere By Herself, especially after the night she first found Wolf Man in his office.Asvhella says By Herself, but Nerin knows she really means without her or Misyl.Nerin tries sometimes, but other times it’s so boring and she wanders anyway and she thinks maybe it’s alright because Asvhella doesn’t really get angry anymore and neither does Wolf Man.

 

Her sewing is getting better and better and Asvhella says she will soon be ready to use her skills to help the People, which Nerin knows is Very Important (maybe even the Most Important).She won’t be able to create Art because that is beyond her, but she will still be able to contribute, which is still very Good.She’s not quite sure _why_ it’s beyond her, but she knows that very many things are because Asvhella says so and sometimes the others do too especially when they are talking to each other about her like she’s not there, which is very annoying.

 

She's putting the finishing touches on her latest present - not for Asvhella or Misyl or Playfulness or even the guards that look at her with grumpy faces, but for Wolf Man.He's been away for many days and maybe even weeks or months.Misyl and Asvhella say that when he goes away he is fulfilling his duties as a Great Leader of the People, but _he_ says he is showing others how to lead themselves and she’s not sure which one is true, but today he is coming back and she wants to be able to give her present to him first thing. 

 

She's finally managed to make the ears stand up instead of flopping over like a dog's and she likes the eyes quite a lot; they're very sparkly and look much better here as eyes than they did on her vest.The greys she used for its fur don't all match, but she thinks it still looks very splendid.It might be her favorite present yet.She hopes it is enough to make Wolf Man happy and maybe even smile.She's not sure why, but she knows that is Very Important.

 

~

 

When he first steps through the Eluvian, Nerin moves to go to him, but Asvhella bars her path and says she has to wait and Nerin doesn't want to but Asvhella reminds her that he is tired and needs to rest.Sometimes she forgets that Wolf Man isn't like her and needs sleep because he does it so rarely.She agrees, though, and lets him rest, but decides around midnight that she's going to go wait outside his chambers so she'll be ready right when he wakes.

 

She sits there and plays with her doll and the small grey wolf.First the wolf chases the doll and then the doll chases back.Round and round they go.Sometimes they even catch each other, which makes Nerin very happy.

 

She's not sure how long she waits out there, but it must be a very long time because she's played as many games as she can think of and sung all the songs she knows at least a few times.She doesn't knock or bother him at all, though, because she is being Very Patient.

 

She starts a new song while she waits.

 

_Da womna-child sing-did, dance-did_

_Alle treesen her joy-sound love-did_

_Theirs leavesen to shower her did fall_

_Goldful, redful anda bronze_

_A sonneseat oround her same-time midday shine-did_

 

_A wulf onto her song came gentle_

_Gentle gentle onto her dance_

_Whot a beautiful seeing-_

 

She stops mid-verse, the last note echoing softly in the empty corridor.She's not quite sure how she knows that one. She thinks it must be a _new_ new song.The words aren't quite the ones that Asvhella and Misyl and everyone else use and they don't fit together quite right, but a part of her feels like they _are_ right, better, in fact, than the ones she uses to speak with everyday and she thinks on some days she might even Know them in the same way she sometimes (usually, nowadays) Knows her name is Nerin.

 

Instead of skipping to a different song she knows, she tries that one again, slower, trying to understand ( _remember_ )-

 

(- _remember, da'len, a Keeper's voice is the voice of the People, it's up to you to-)_

 

The shimmery things that she knows mean magic disappear and the door opens with a bang to reveal Wolf Man staring at her.His eyes are wide and he looks very scared, but she’s not sure why.

 

“Hello - it’s just me!” she says and she smiles up at him because sometimes, if she smiles wide enough, it makes people smile back (not the grumpy guard, not yet, but she’ll keep trying) and she doesn’t want him to be afraid; she wants him to be happy.It’s Very Important.

 

“I- you- Ner- What?” his voice sounds breathless as he struggles to form words. 

 

“I have a present for you.I made it myself!Asvhella said I had to wait because you were tired so I waited.”

 

For some reason, her explanation does nothing to ease the look of confusion from his face.She thrusts out the hand holding the small wolf doll at him.He looks at it, bewildered, and doesn’t take it.She shakes it a bit, hoping he’ll get the message.

 

He doesn’t.

 

She opens her mouth to say something (she’s not sure what) when Asvhella comes storming up the stairs.

 

"If I have told you once, I have told you a thousand times - you cannot keep wandering off like this!"

 

Nerin wasn’t wandering, though, she knew exactly where she was going.

 

"But I was giving Wolf Man his present!"

 

“Fen’Harel,” Asvhella corrects, saying each of the syllables slowly like she does when she thinks Nerin has misheard or doesn't understand something.

 

“He doesn’t like that name," Nerin says without thinking.

 

He freezes completely and for a moment she wonders if maybe Asvhella has used the spell she used to use on Nerin when she was being Bad.His eyes slide to hers and she realizes that this is the first time he's looked her in the eyes for a very long time.It’s nice.She thinks she would like it very much if he did it more often.

 

"So you won't have to hunt alone anymore,” she says, taking his hand and putting the small wolf in it.

 

He takes it, finally, which is Good and runs his fingers over her stitches and says “Thank you,” which is Very Good, even though he mostly whispers it and doesn’t smile, not really.

 

Asvhella seems to think that this is Good, too, because she’s still giving Nerin a disapproving look, but she’s not _actually_ scolding her.Wolf Man looks at it for a long time and even though he’s not looking at her anymore, it’s still nice because she made it so it’s _almost_ like he’s looking at her.He looks like he’s going to say something, opens his mouth a little bit a few times and he’s probably trying to get the words right (which can be hard, Nerin knows) when the three of them are interrupted by the Grumpy Guard.

 

He doesn’t look at Nerin at all (that’s not true - he pretends he doesn’t, but his eyes scan her quickly and then his jaw clenches and he looks away).“My lord,” he begins.

 

_(Why do you call him that? Why do you all call him that?He’s just a humble apostate a hobo apostate Technically, all mages are now apostates apostate apostate… what does that mean?Apostasy from what?A woman, blonde and pale and terrible,a mother who kills her children.They’ll cut off your ears, da’len.No one will thank you, either.Do you want to take over Fereldan? I’m pretty sure you could conquer it just by lo-)_

 

She takes a deep breath through her nose and tries to push the thoughts down, to bring her focus back to the conversation at hand.

 

“-and there are rumors that this is no simple misunderstanding at all, that the settlements to the south speak of…secession.”

 

Nerin’s not quite sure what that word means, but it must not be good, because Wolf Man puts his arms behind his back (wolf doll still dangling from one hand), which he only does when he’s being Official and pretending he’s not upset ( _That should give us more time.I suspect you ha-)_

 

No. No no no.It _hurts_ and she can’t breathe-

 

Asvhella must realize something is wrong or maybe she can also tell that Wolf Man is upset because she gently takes Nerin by the arm and guides her away, guides her to a garden and sits her under a tree.

 

“In, two, three.Out, two, three.”

 

Being outside helps.It always does.They sit there for many minutes or maybe even hours and Asvhella counts her breaths and then she just holds her as Nerin holds herself together, keeps the threads from unraveling.

 

By the time she feels stable enough to stand, Wolf Man is gone.

 

She goes back to her new room and waters her plants and begins sewing a pair of trousers for the Grumpy Guard, ones that won’t be as tight as the armor he always wears.Maybe having comfier clothing will make him less grumpy.

 

~

 

It’s many days and maybe even months and she’s been working as a seamstress for at least a week before she sees him again.He looks tired, more tired than normal and his very shiny armor is a bit less shiny.She offers to re-hem his cloak, which has begun to fray a bit with wear, but he declines.She’snot _too_ upset by this, though, because she sees a small grey tail peaking out of the top of his satchel.

 

He hasn’t smiled or laughed or even spoken to her much, really, but she thinks she might have made him happy.

 

Or at least a little less sad.


	7. Sunshine-child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misyl and Asvhella over the years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm BAAACK. Thank you to everyone who has stuck around while I took a long detour into the Star Wars fandom. I promise I haven't abandoned this fic. If I ever get stuck and it gets discontinued or put on hiatus, I promise I will tell you guys. This chapter is a bit short, but hopefully full of useful necessary stuff. Again, thanks for anyone who's stuck around and hello to any newbies!

The first time Misyl meets Asvhella, she is four years old.Her mothers have arranged her hair into a crown of intricate, interwoven braids atop her head.She is dressed in a gown that seems to have perfectly captured the hues of Arlathan's sunrise and she herself seems to be made of sunshine, all smiles for everyone, including him.He smiles back - how can he not?Falon'Din's followers see few children and even fewer smiles - which sends her into a flutter of giggles.With a display that is quite impressive for her age, she summons a heap of purple flowers and scoops them up in an attempt to hand them to him.He accepts them graciously, thanking the gods they aren't supposed to acknowledge anymore that Lord Falon'Din is distracted by the presence of his brother and paying them all no mind.Misyl wouldn't put it past him to be offended by a child.

 

~

 

The second time he meets her, she has just recently received Dirthamen's vallaslin and is filled with all of the bubbling enthusiasm of those new to (supposed) adulthood.Her family’s rank is not particularly high, but the Glorious Leaders seem to be eager to indulge in any excuse for a party.Though it’s her night, most of the focus is on the four Evanuris lounging at the front of the room, bedecked in shimmering, resplendent robes.Ghilan’nainis eating grapes from Andruil’s hand while she argues with Falon’Din, who keeps trying to reposition himself atop the small mountain of cushions so that his head will be higher than the rest.Dirthamen is drawing patterns in the condensation on his goblet. 

 

The whole evening seems relatively laid-back. 

 

Misyl has always been too optimistic.

 

An attendant goes to pour more wine, but mistimes it.The jug gets caught in the middle of one of Andruil’s more wild gesticulations and wine splatters everywhere.

 

Falon’Din strikes down the attendant with a single flick of his wrist.Blood pools at his feet and he brings forth a spell that grows in intensity until it outshines everything else in the room, until it threatens to outshine the even sun.

 

Unsurprising.

 

At least to Misyl, that is.Asvhella looks horrified.Her jaw drops and Misyl’s whole body goes tense and rigid in panic and anticipation.

 

She does not say anything, however, to Misyl’s great relief.No one but him (and perhaps her mothers) seems to have noticed and, after a few minutes, he lets himself breathe again.The incident seems to have settled whatever argument the Great Leaders had been having, at any rate.

 

He worries, though.Dirthamen’s halls are perhaps not the best place for her.This sunshine-child, Asvhella, does not seem to be well-suited to keeping secrets.

 

~

 

The third time he meets her, she is nearing five hundred.He’d almost forgotten about her, but when she comes with a small contingent of Ghilan’ain’s followers she smiles at him and he smiles back and, yes, she is just as radiant as ever.She stands at least a head taller than anyone present, other than Falon’Din himself (whose height has always been a bit…suspect) and her braids are swept up into an elegant bun atop her head. 

 

Ghilan’nain has sent her latest creation to feature in a hunt in an attempt to ease diplomatic tensions between all parties.Misyl notes, however, that diplomacy had not been important enough for the youngest Evanuris to make the journey herself, so it is Asvhella herself that presents the creature. 

 

It’s almost Person-shaped, but is covered in white fur.Its hands have long talons and its mouth, glittering crystalline fangs.Although the air around it remains empty, it keeps whimpering softly in a way that is…distressing.Asvhella strokes its head and neck, whispering soothing nonsense into its ear.

 

Andruil and Falon’Din mount their steeds. 

 

Ashvella gently pushes the creature forward, her face unmoving as a statue, the air around her oddly still and muted. It’s only because he cannot take his eyes off of her that he sees a lone tear roll down her cheek as they release the creature into the woods. 

 

He thinks it might be then that he starts to fall in love with her.

 

~

 

He sees her many more times over the years.While their masters convene at Arlathan, he takes her to its lower districts and shows her his favorite places.She chatters about her creations, though her enthusiasm steadily dims over the years.Each time they meet, he tells himself he will ask to court her.Each time they meet, he does not.

 

~

 

Mythal is dead and the world is burning and broken.He grabs her hand and it is a testament to the absolute clusterfuck they find themselves in that she comes with him without question.

 

She smiles through tears as Fen’Harel removes the vallaslin from her face and even though she is bruised and bloodied and covered in grime, Misyl thinks she has never looked more beautiful.

 

~

 

After they reawaken, Misyl believes it best to wait until things have settled down to address the exact nature of their relationship.He’s almost managed to muster up enough courage to broach the subject when her when Nerin crashes into their lives.Quite literally.

 

He resents her, at first.She was supposed to be a solution, not-

 

Well.

 

He has to admit, though, that it’s quite…nice.Having her with them.Teaching her things together, he and Asvhella.Sitting and reading with her.Listening to her ask the most absurd questions.He watches her sew and sees her improve and, though he has little to do with the whole process, he cannot help but feel proud.Sometimes, when they eat together in the evenings, he almost lets himself believe that she’s their dau-

 

It is all too easy to forget that she is not a person.


End file.
